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    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus (Translated by Francis Storr with Introductions by Richard C. Jebb)
    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus (Translated by Francis Storr with Introductions by Richard C. Jebb)
    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus (Translated by Francis Storr with Introductions by Richard C. Jebb)
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    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus (Translated by Francis Storr with Introductions by Richard C. Jebb)

    By Sophocles

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    Sophocles, along with Aeschylus and Euripides, is considered one of three important ancient Greek tragedians. Writing during the 5th century BC, Sophocles created some one hundred and twenty three plays during his lifetime, of which only seven have survived in their entirety. In this edition are included the three “Theban” plays, which are widely considered his most important works. This collection of dramas includes “Antigone” the story of its title character, a strong heroine whose complete commitment to familial duty brings her to challenge the will of her king; “Oedipus the King,” the legend of Oedipus who is exiled as an infant by his royal father because of a prophesy of patricide and incest; and “Oedipus at Colonus,” a drama which finds Oedipus at the end of his life caught between the warring kings of Athens and Thebes who each desire that Oedipus’s final resting place be in their respective lands. These tragedies are some of the finest examples from classical antiquity and their influence on the development of modern drama cannot be overstated. This edition follows the translations of Francis Storr, includes introductions by R. C. Jebb, and a biographical afterword.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2017
    ISBN9781420952773
    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus (Translated by Francis Storr with Introductions by Richard C. Jebb)
    Author

    Sophocles

    Sophocles is one of three ancient Greek tragedians whose plays have survived. His first plays were written later than or contemporary with those of Aeschylus, and earlier than or contemporary with those of Euripides.

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    • 5/5
      So... not over-rated. Fagles' translation is solid, much clearer than his Aeschylus, though I actually prefer the opacity he brought to that text. Of course, that might have been in Aeschylus. I will never learn Greek well enough to tell.

      Antigone was the earliest of these plays, though the last within the narrative. I can't help but read it with my Hegel glasses on: the clash between Creon and Antigone is an example of a failed conceptual grasp of the world, in which the claims on us of family/tradition/ancient gods cannot be accommodated by our living in larger, civic communities. Divine law and human law sometimes do not go together, but only a tyrant would insist on hewing to the latter alone. Removing the Hegel glasses, I can see that Creon, to his credit, does change his mind. But this being Greece, by then it's all too late. The 'lesson', if you like, is simply that one has to exercise excellent judgment in these matters.

      This question of judgment works through the Oedipus plays, as well; each tyrant (Oedipus in OK, Creon in OC) fails to use good judgment; the good king Theseus does exercise it, and thus Athens rules etc etc... I know we're 'meant' to think that these plays are really about always bowing down to the gods and accepting fate, but that just doesn't square with what actually happens: Athens succeeds because of Theseus's wisdom just as much as his piety; Thebes will eventually fall because of its kings' folly just as much as their impiety. In OK, Oedipus has the chorus's support in his argument with Tiresias, because Oedipus's defeat of the Sphinx acts as proof of his regality; but when he accuses Creon without evidence, they give up on him... because by acting without evidence, he shows poor judgment. And so on.

      The best play for reading is easily Oedipus the King, which is horrifying and glorious in equal measure. Also, if anyone out there knows of a good book on Tiresias, let me know.

      As for Knox's introductory essays, they're not particularly thrilling. There's too much plot-summary (good news for freshmen, I guess), and his insights are so skewed ("these plays aren't depressing! They're about how we do have some control over our lives!") that it's hard to take him seriously. but they're still worth reading.
    • 3/5
      I didn't enjoy these Ancient Greek Plays as much as others I have read in the last few months. I don't know if its the translation, or the subject matter. But I found the stories to be dry, convoluted, and rather boring. I found King Oidipus to be a tragic character that is too whiny and hypocritical. I really feel for his daughters, Imene and Antigone. They were caught in the web that is the curse of their family.
    • 5/5
      The oral traditions of Greece included the mythos of the life of Oedipus long before the first performance of this play, and the audience knew exactly what would happen before the gears of the plot begin turning. But the relentless, clockwork motion of the play kept theatergoers rapt then, as it does now, because watching fate unfold when it is known to you but not to the people who are its prisoners is a privilege borrowed from the gods.Oedipus is portrayed bold, mighty, and just, as the Priest claims him "greatest in all men's eyes".(l 40) Yet he also has human foibles and it is soon clear he has a destiny that, in spite of his actions, cannot be avoided. One theme of Oedipus the King is based on his hubris, but there is also the importance of his search for knowledge, the truth of his own being. Before the action of this play begins, Oedipus has already attempted to outrun fate, marking himself early for destruction. By attempting to escape a prophecy that he would kill his father, and leaving the palace at Corinth where he was raised, he sets the machinery of doom in motion.Traveling along the highways, he soon enough meets and murders a man he thinks is merely an overly aggressive stranger. Years later, he discovers that the dead man is his natural father, Laius, and that he has unwittingly performed the act he was trying to avoid. The play begins with Oedipus again attempting to reshape the arc of his life that was described by prophecy. The hints of his coming failure are numerous.In the Priest’s first long speech, when he begs Oedipus to save the city, he appeals to the king’s long experience—as a statesman, as a wanderer, as a ruler and as a vagrant. Unknown to the Priest and to Oedipus—but known to the audience—is that this king’s experience also includes killing his father and marrying his mother. The very experience to which the Priest appeals is moving Oedipus step by step to destruction. This exchange between the Priest and Oedipus is an example of how Sophocles builds dramatic tension into his play by including multiple levels of meaning in a single statement.The technique will be repeated throughout the play. It reappears just a few lines later, when Oedipus tells the Priest that he has asked for help from the Oracle at Delphi and will follow its advice or consider himself a traitor. With the borrowed omniscience of the gods, the audience knows that Oedipus is already a traitor for having killed Laius, and that he will be faced with pronouncing the judgment he has pronounced upon himself. It remains only to witness what happens.In another exchange weighted with similarly complex levels of meaning, Creon tells Oedipus what he has learned from the Oracle. Creon begins with the murder of Laius as background, and Oedipus says that he knows of the previous king, but has never seen him. Creon continues, delivering the Oracle’s instructions, and Oedipus vows to find and punish the murderer of Laius.While the Oracle’s wishes are being delivered by Creon and while Oedipus reacts to them, the audience knows, as before, what Oedipus does not—that he murdered Laius, that he is the dead king’s son and that the widowed queen Oedipus married is his mother. Once again, there is something transfixing, tragic and doomed about watching Oedipus, in his ignorance, attempting to follow the Oracle’s orders but all the time preparing for the revelation of his crime and his subsequent doom.The first hint of the truth is revealed to Oedipus by the blind prophet, Tiresias, and the king answers the seemingly unbelievable charge with rage, insults and threats. Raised in Corinth by the royal house as if he were the natural son of his adoptive parents, Oedipus rejects what Tiresias says as errant nonsense, saying "Had you eyes I would have said alone you murdered him [Laius]."(ls. 348-9) The blind prophet, who taunts Oedipus as being the one who is unable to see the truth, claiming "you are the land's pollution."(l 353) He challenges the king to reconsider everything about himself and the challenge is met with rage - Oedipus is unable to see the truth or to hear well-intentioned advice.Pride and faith in his own abilities moves Oedipus ever onward toward doom, failure to honor the gods results in the very destruction they foretell, and humanity is unable to escape what is predicted for it. His wife, Jocasta, is a flawed individual. Her arrogant dismissal of the gods and her proclamations of victory over fate foretell her undoing. As much as Oedipus, she is unable to see until it is too late that her life fulfilled the very prophecy she sought vainly and pridefully to undo. Oedipus begins to see, in brief glimpses, how blind he has been to the central facts of his own life. Thinking that he is doing a good deed, a Messenger tells Oedipus that it’s fine for Oedipus to come back to Corinth any time—he’s in no danger of fulfilling the prophecy there, the Messenger says. By telling Oedipus that the queen who raised him is not his natural mother, the Messenger has unknowingly revealed enough of the truth to make Oedipus tragically curious and to push Jocasta toward despair. Motivated by a simple desire to ease worry, the Messenger has released the machinations of fate that will produce the full revelation of the truth and all its awful effects. When the Messenger speaks, he is as blindly ignorant of his fatal role in serving destiny as Oedipus and Jocasta are of theirs. He speaks, but he does not see.In this section, the theme is hammered home time and again that people go through their lives thinking they are fulfilling one purpose when they are actually lurching toward the completion of several others. The gods know this and watch events unfold from above. The first audiences of this play knew the histories of its characters before the first lines were spoken, and the drama unfolded for viewers who watched with the borrowed omniscience of the gods. Modern readers are left to decide for themselves what they think about fate, prophecy and human attempts to outrun destiny. The climax of the play is both pitiful and tragic. Yet, it also yields knowledge for Oedipus of who he really is, even as he goes forth as a blind man. The chorus intones the message that "Time who sees all has found you out / against your will;" (ls. 1213-14). As Aristotle put it in his Poetics, Sophocles has organized his story so as to emphasize the elements of ignorance, irony, and the unexpected recognition of the truth. The magnificence of this drama has allowed it to endure and challenge readers ever since.
    • 4/5
      Ah, Oedipus and all of his family problems. I purchased this book my first year of teaching because it was part of the recommended curriculum for sophomore English. While I'm generally not a fan of plays (or having to teach them), this one offered up all sorts of hilarious discussion opportunities with the sophomores and they were hooked. Oedipus has a million problems and it was fun to read and discuss with my students.
    • 5/5
      A few years ago I had read the Storrs translation of these plays (the one most commonly found in the free public domain ebook editions) which were disappointingly poor. This translation by Robert Fagles is much much better!! I cannot speak to the introductory material, as I skipped that part but there was a substantial amount of it.
    • 4/5
      When it comes to tragic irony, few ancient or modern playwrights come close to Sophocles and these are the three works that showcase his dark genius at its best. This particular edition is translated by the ever-dependable Robert Fagles, and contains the following plays, in the order they were first produced:1 - ANTIGONE: Antigone is the daughter of Oedipus and heir to her family's persistent dark cloud of misfortune. She wants to bury her equally-unlucky brother but her loyalty to her doomed brethren may cost her. (Of course it will! It's Sophocles!)2 - OEDIPUS THE KING: Oedipus is the best king for miles around and everyone knows it, including him.* Unfortunately an ominous stain is creeping into his idyllic kingdom; a plague is raging and it seems the gods are upset about something or other. The only person who seems to know what's up is a blind prophet and he's got some bad news for poor Oeddy.3 - OEDIPUS AT COLONUS: The action in this place takes place between the events of Oedipus the King and Antigone. This the most philosophical of the trilogy, dealing with ideas of fate, guilt, and redemption. (I thought it was a bit boring.)* Uh oh! Hubris!
    • 5/5
      Sophocles' is one of only three Ancient Greek tragedians with surviving plays. The plays by the earliest, Aeschylus, remind me of a ancient frieze--not stilted exactly, but still stylized, very formal. The plays by the last of the three, Euripides, to me seems the most natural, the most modern. Sophocles is more in the middle in more ways than chronologically. He is credited with adding a third actor onstage to allow for more conflict and less emphasis on the chorus. His Theban Plays are about Oedipus and his daughter Antigone, of the royal family of the ancient Greek city of Thebes, and the plays are often grouped together, but actually were each part of tetralogies that have been lost and written years apart. Only seven of over a hundred plays by Sophocles still remain in existence. Oedipus the King and Antigone are his most famous and influential, and I was introduced to both plays in high school, and amazingly, that didn't put me off for life.Oedipus the King is a mystery story--with Oedipus the detective unraveling a secret that becomes his own doom. You may have heard of the "Oedipus Complex" associated with theories by Freud. Yes, that's this Oedipus, and that speaks to how primal, how deep goes some of the themes in this play. In the book 100 Top Plays, Oedipus the King comes in second only to Shakespeare's King Lear as most important play. Antigone comes in at number fifteen, after Aeschylus' Oresteia and two plays by Euripides. Antigone is the rare play with a female title protagonist--and its basic theme of the individual against the state resonated with me strongly, even as a teenager first reading it. Oedipus at Colonus, I found less memorable and impressive. In terms of the timeline, its events fall between those of Oedipus the King and Antigone, though this was actually one of Sophocles' last plays. That said, it falls nicely in between the two, filling some gaps, and it does have its beauties. But comparing this to the other two is like comparing Shakespeare's King Lear and Hamlet to, oh, his Cymbeline.
    • 4/5
      The Cliff/Spark version of Antigone is this: Two sisters want to bury their dead brother. One wants to bury him admirably and the other doesn't want to break the law. He cannot be buried because he was executed for a crime and must be left to rot in the courtyard as an example for the community. Defiant sister must go against the king alone as everyone refuses to help her. True to Greek tragedy nearly everyone, including the king's wife ends up committing suicide. The end.Of course there is much, much more to the story and, depending on which version you read, you get it. In my version of Antigone translated by Elizabeth Wyckoff the language is watered down and somewhat pedestrian. It's not as lyrical as other translations. A small example: from a 1906 Oxford Clarendon Press version (translated by Robert Whitelaw): "Ismene: There's trouble in thy looks, thy tidings tell" compared with the 1954 University of Chicago Press version (translated by Elizabeth Wycoff): "Ismene: What is it? Clearly some news has clouded you" (p 159). Ismene is basically saying the same thing in each line, but the Whitelaw version has more animation, more movement. In the end Antigoneis a simple story about the man against The Man, no matter how you read it.
    • 4/5
      This is a modern and inferior translation. The third of the three plays, Antigone, is Greek tragedy at its classic best. Antigone is Oedipus' daughter who defies King Creon's order against burying her brother. He banishes her to be buried in an island dungeon. She hangs herself and Creon 's son and wife commit suicide.
    • 4/5
      The name of Oedipus the King (Oedipus Tyrannos or Oedipus Rex, if you prefer) is nearly synonymous with the idea of Greek tragedy, and maybe with the idea of tragic drama in general. Aristotle referenced it in his Poetics, as (of course) did Freud in his writings. Reading it today, it seems both very ancient and very new, outlandish and yet relevant. I found it immensely gripping, and fascinating in its juxtaposition of fate and human action, sight and blindness, intention and guilt.I was assigned the play in two separate classes this semester, along with Antigone in one of them. I decided to go above and beyond by reading all of the plays, including Oedipus at Colonus, and I'm very glad I did. Although this often-skipped middle work is not as dramatically potent as the other two plays, Sophocles’ use of language is (as others have remarked) even more mature and lyrical than it was before. Also, one really read the three together not because there elements are perfectly cohesive—they aren’t—but because it is only then that the modern reader can understand the full scale of the Theban tragedy, something the Ancient Greeks would have known about going in.Despite the popularity of Oedipus the King and the maturity of Oedipus at Colonus, most everyone I’ve talked to seems to likeAntigone best. I can understand why. It is the most varied of the plays, incorporating a little humor and romance, as well as the usual tragic elements. I think Antigone and Haemon are the first truly sympathetic characters in the cycle, which makes their downfall all the more heartrending.Paul Roche’s translation is easy to read and modern in tone—almost too modern, to tell the truth. There is an almost Hemingway-like disregard of punctuation at times (“What another summons?” should read “What? Another summons?”) not to mention one of the most inane contractions I’ve ever seen (“what’re”). Still, these are minor blemishes, and the sheer readability of Roche's rendering is a definite aid in understanding these ancient tragedies.Scholars have been discussing and debating these plays for literally centuries. I feel I’ve only scratched the surface of them, and can easily see myself coming back to them in the future.
    • 5/5
      Great book including the stories of epic Oedipus and his daughter, Antigone. Sophocles is an amazing author. Oedipus is a man who tries to avoid his prophecy, which is to kill his father and marry his mother. Not only marry his mother, but also have four children with her. Now, he searches for an answer to his question: Has he fulfilled the prophecy? Think your life has drama? Please. Oedipus has it worse than anyone. In Antigone, she goes against the law to bury her brother. What will win, reason and order or morality and fate? Beautifully written and relative even today.
    • 4/5
      Three plays are collected in this volume surrounding Oedipus and his family. Oedipus was famous for killing his father and marrying his mother after being abandoned at birth. The first play is Antigone which follows the daughter of Oedipus and his wife/mother Jocasta. Her brothers have both died and while Eteocles is given a proper burial, Polynices is left out without any rites by their uncle Creon. Antigone is distraught and goes against Creon's wishes (he is the King after Oedipus) and tries to cover his body bringing about more sorrow to the doomed family.Oedipus the King follows which shows the sequence of events leading up to Oedipus learning the truth about his birth and the crimes he has committed. It has him summoning the shepherd who is the sole witness of the death of Laius and it also emerges how he grew up not knowing his real parents. It's a sad tale as Oedipus did so much to try and avoid fulfilling the prophecy. The final play is Oedipus at Colonus which finishes the story of Oedpius after his exile. It concludes his story taking it to his death in Athens with Theseus. His daughters Antigone and Ismene are with him at the end.I really enjoyed all three plays although I do feel that having Antigone first was out of order and it should have been the final play in the collection. I would really like to see them performed live, especially Oedipus the King which is the most powerful of the three with the truths it reveals. A must for all mythology fans.
    • 4/5
      Freud loved this shizzle. it is a classic. whether or not I want to kill my dad. oh wait, I'm sure of.
    • 3/5
      I like Oedipus. In a kind of sick, twisted way, I guess.
    • 5/5
      Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus, Antigone. Sophocles is surprisingly easy to read, not unlike a modern novel. I watched my understanding of the Greek society and beliefs being "rounded out" now that I have some context from previous choruses (tragedies) and the epics. The Oedipus trilogy showed an interesting thread through the three works. I can understand why the Greeks found such a format entertaining. Sophocles lived from around 495bc to 406bc and competed and won against Aeschylus in the contests. He was also a leader in Athens, born in Colonus. Oedipus is worth reading both to have that understanding of the classic work, as well as in its own right. I note here only the closing moral: "Therefore, while our eyes wait to see the destined final day, we must call no one happy who is of mortal race, until he hath crossed life's border, free from pain." In Colonus and again in Antigone I noticed what may have been the first reference of "stranger in a strange land." The parallels to Shakespeare are also so evident, best shown by the use of "ill-starred" - although Shakespeare would have done the exact opposite treatment of any death. Deaths typically happen off-stage in the tragedies. The moral of Antigone: "Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness; and reverence towards the gods must be inviolate. Great words of prideful men are ever punished with great blows, and, in old age, teach the chastened to be wise."
    • 4/5
      Contains the best tragedy ever written. Always a pleasure to re-read.
    • 4/5
      If you can, see also the stage musical, "The Gospel at Colonus" -- or at least get the soundtrack. Set in a black pentecostal church, starring Clarence Fountain & The Blind Boys of Alabama, a massive choir, guitarist Sam Butler, and assorted other musical & vocal powerhouses, it was one of the best stage performances I've ever seen (Guthrie Theater, 1986 or 1987).

    Book preview

    The Three Theban Plays - Sophocles

    cover.jpg

    THE THREE THEBAN PLAYS

    ANTIGONE, OEDIPUS THE KING, and OEDIPUS AT COLONUS

    By SOPHOCLES

    Translated by FRANCIS STORR

    Introductions by

    RICHARD CLAVERHOUSE JEBB

    The Three Theban Plays: Antigone, Oedipus the King, and Oedipus at Colonus

    By Sophocles

    Translated by Francis Storr

    Introductions by Richard Claverhouse Jebb

    Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5276-6

    eBook ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-5277-3

    This edition copyright © 2016. Digireads.com Publishing.

    All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

    Cover Image: Oedipus at Colonus, 1798 (oil on canvas), Harriet, Fulchran-Jean (1778-1805) / Cleveland Museum of Art, OH, USA / Mr. and Mrs. William H. Marlatt Fund / Bridgeman Images.

    Please visit www.digireads.com

    CONTENTS

    ANTIGONE

    INTRODUCTION

    ARGUMENT

    DRAMATIS PERSONAE

    ANTIGONE

    OEDIPUS THE KING

    INTRODUCTION

    ARGUMENT

    DRAMATIS PERSONAE

    OEDIPUS THE KING

    OEDIPUS AT COLONUS

    INTRODUCTION

    ARGUMENT

    DRAMATIS PERSONAE

    OEDIPUS AT COLONUS

    BIOGRAPHICAL AFTERWORD

    Antigone

    INTRODUCTION

    Oedipus the King is concerned with the fall of the Theban king; Oedipus at Colonus, with the close of his life; and the Antigone, with a later episode in the fortunes of his children. But the order of composition was, Antigone, Oedipus the King, Oedipus at Colonus; and the first was separated from the last by perhaps more than thirty years of the poet’s life. The priority of the Antigone admits of a probable explanation, which is not without interest. There is some ground for thinking that the subject—though not the treatment—was suggested by Aeschylus.

    The sisters Antigone and Ismene are not mentioned by Homer, Hesiod, or Pindar{1}. Antigone’s heroism presupposes a legend that burial had been refused to Polyneices. Pindar knows nothing of such a refusal. He speaks of the seven funeral-pyres provided at Thebes for the seven divisions of the Argive army{2}. Similarly Pausanias records a Theban legend that the corpse of Polyneices was burned on the same pyre with that of Eteocles, and that the very flames refused to mingle{3}. The refusal of burial was evidently an Attic addition to the story. It served to contrast Theban vindictiveness with Athenian humanity; for it was Theseus who ultimately buried the Argives at Eleusis. If Creon’s edict, then, was an Attic invention, it may be conjectured that Antigone’s resolve to defy the edict was also the conception of an Attic poet. Aeschylus is the earliest author who refers to the edict against burial, and he is also the first who tells of Antigone’s resolve. His Theban trilogy consisted of the Laïus, the Oedipus, and the Seven against Thebes{4}, At the end of the last play a herald proclaims an edict just published by the Council of Thebes; sepulture shall be given to Eteocles, but denied to Polyneices. Antigone at once declares her resolve; she will bury Polyneices. The Theban maidens who form the Chorus are divided. One half of their number goes to attend the funeral of Eteocles; the other half accompanies Antigone to her task. There the play ends.

    The situation, as it is thus left by the Seven against Thebes, is essentially different from that in the play of Sophocles, The Antigone of Aeschylus is not isolated in her action, but is escorted by a band of maidens who publicly avow their sympathy. Though the herald enters a formal protest, and hints that the rulers are likely to be ‘severe,’ yet he does not say that death is to be the price of disobedience, nor, indeed, does he specify any penalty. The Chorus represents average civic opinion; and one half of the Chorus openly defies the decree. A plot which began thus could scarcely end in the Council taking the heroine’s life. It rather foreshadows a final solution which shall be favorable to her; and we might surmise that, in losing the knot, Aeschylus would have resorted to a divine mandate or intervention. But the Antigone of Sophocles stands alone; the penalty of a dreadful death is definitely set before her; and, whatever the Thebans may think of Creon’s edict, no one dares to utter a word of disapproval. Taking the two primary facts—the veto, and Antigone’s resolve—Sophocles has worked in a manner which is characteristically his own.

    Let us first trace the outline of the action.

    The scene is laid before the palace of Creon,—once that of Oedipus,—at Thebes. The city has just been delivered from a great peril. It had been besieged by an Argive army, the allies of the exile Polyneices, whom his brother Eteocles had driven out of Thebes, that he himself might be sole king. But on the day before that with which the play begins, the two brothers had slain each other in a single fight. Besides Polyneices, six other leaders of the besiegers had been killed by as many Theban chiefs. Thus deprived of its commanders, the besieging host had fled, panic-stricken, in the night.

    It is the moment of dawn. Antigone has asked her sister Ismene to come forth with her from the house, in order that they may converse alone. Creon, their uncle, is now king. He has put forth an edict,—that Eteocles, the champion of Thebes, shall be honorably buried; but the body of Polyneices, the country’s foe, shall be left on the plain outside the walls of Thebes, for dogs and birds to mangle at their will. If any citizen dares to disobey, he shall be stoned to death. Antigone tells her sister that she is resolved to defy this edict, and to bury their brother Polyneices. Ismene vainly seeks to dissuade her; and Antigone goes forth, alone, to do the deed.

    The Chorus of fifteen Theban elders now enters. Creon has summoned them to meet him,—they do not yet know wherefore. They greet the rising sun, and, in a splendid ode, describe the danger from which Thebes has been saved. The dramatic effect of the ode is to make us feel how grievous, from a Theban point of view, had been the act of Polyneices.

    Creon comes forth. Declaring his resolve that patriotism and treason shall never miss their due rewards, he acquaints the Chorus with the purport of his edict,—that Eteocles shall be honored, and Polyneices dishonored. The elders receive the decision with unquestioning respect; though their words are more suggestive of acquiescence than of approval.

    A guard arrives, with the startling news that unknown hands have already paid burial-rites to Polyneices, by the symbolical act of sprinkling dust on the corpse. Creon dismisses the man with threats of a terrible death, which the other guards shall share, if they fail to discover the men who have thus broken the edict.

    The choral ode which follows is a beautiful treatment of a theme which this mysterious deed suggests,—human inventiveness,—its audacity and its almost infinite resource, save for the limits set by fate. As these strains cease, anapaests spoken by the leader of the Chorus express sudden amazement and pain.—Antigone, the royal maiden, the niece of the king, is led in, a prisoner in the hands of the guard.

    Questioned by Creon, Antigone replies that she knew the edict, but nevertheless paid funeral-rites to her brother because she held that no human law could supersede the higher law of the gods. She is ready to die.

    Creon, still more incensed by her demeanor, vows that she shall indeed perish by a shameful death. He suspects Ismene also; and she is presently brought in. Agonized by grief for her sister’s impending doom, Ismene entreats that she may be considered as sharing the responsibility of the deed; she wishes to die with her sister. Antigone firmly and even sternly, though not bitterly, rejects this claim, which ‘justice will not allow’; the deed has been hers only. Ismene vainly seeks to move Creon; he is not touched by her despair, or by the thought—to which Ismene also appeals—that his son Haemon is betrothed to Antigone. He orders that both sisters shall be taken into the house, and closely guarded; for his present purpose is that both shall die.

    Moved by the sentence which has just been passed, the Chorus speaks of the destiny which has pursued the royal line of Thebes: ‘When a house hath once been shaken from heaven, there the curse fails nevermore.’ The sisters were the last hope of the race; and now they too must perish. The ode closes with a strain of general reflection on the power of Zeus and the impotence of human self-will. There is no conscious reference to Creon; but, for the spectators, the words are suggestive and ominous.

    Haemon enters. He has come to plead with his father for the life of his betrothed Antigone. This scene is one of the finest in the play. A lesser dramatist would have been apt to depict Haemon as passionately agitated. The Haemon of Sophocles maintains an entire calm and self-control so long as a ray of hope remains; his pleading is faultless in tone and in tact; he knows Creon, and he does not intercede with him as a lover for his betrothed; he speaks as a son solicitous for his father’s reputation, and as a subject concerned for the authority of his king; he keeps his temper under stinging taunts; it is only when Creon is found to be inexorable that the pent-up fire at last flashes out Then, when Haemon rushes forth,—resolved, as his latest words hint, not to survive his beloved,—he leaves with the spectators a profound sense of the supreme effort which he has made in a cause dearer to him than life, and has made without success.

    Haemon having quitted the scene, Creon announces, in reply to a question of the Chorus, the mode of death which he designs for Antigone. As for Ismene, he will spare her; her entire innocence has been proved, to his calmer thoughts, by the words which passed between the sisters in his presence. Antigone is to be immured in a sepulchral chamber,—one of the rock-tombs in the low hills that fringe the plain of Thebes,—and there she is to be left, with only the formal dole of food which religion prescribes, in order to avert the pollution which the State would otherwise incur through the infliction of death by starvation.

    A choral song celebrates the power of Love,—as seen in Haemon, who has not feared to confront a father’s anger in pleading for one who had broken the law. While implying that Haemon has acted amiss, the ode also palliates his action by suggesting that the deity who swayed him is irresistible. At the same time this reference to Haemon’s passion serves to deepen the pathos of Antigone’s fate.

    She is now brought out of the house by Creon’s servants, who are to conduct her to her living tomb. At that sight, the Theban elders cry that pity constrains them, even as love constrained Haemon, to deplore the sentence. Antigone speaks to them of her fate, and they answer not unkindly; yet they say plainly that the blame for her doom rests with herself alone; the king could not grant impunity to a breach of his edict. Creon enters, and reproves the guards for their delay. In her latest words, Antigone expresses her confidence in the love which awaits her beyond the grave; and also the trouble which overclouds her trust in the gods, who knew her deed, and yet have permitted her to suffer this doom. Then she is led forth, and is seen no more.

    The rocky tomb to which she is passing suggests the theme of a choral ode, commemorating three other sufferers of a cruel imprisonment,—Danaë, Lycurgus, and Cleopatra.

    As the choral strains cease, the blind and aged prophet Teiresias is led in by a boy. He comes with an urgent warning for the king. The gods are wroth with Thebes; they will no longer give their prophet any sign by the voice of birds, or through the omens of sacrifice. The king is himself the cause, by his edict. Carrion-creatures have defiled the altars of Thebes with the taint of the unburied dead. Let burial-rites be at once paid to Polyneices. He speaks for Creon’s own good.

    Here we pause for a moment to answer a question which naturally occurs to the modern reader. Why is Polyneices said to be still unburied? Has not Antigone already rendered burial-rites to him; is it not precisely for that action that she is dying? Antigone had, indeed, given symbolical sepulture to Polyneices by sprinkling dust upon the corpse, and pouring libations. The performance of that act discharged her personal duty towards the dead and the gods below; it also saved her dead brother from the dishonor (which would else have been a reproach to him in the other world) of having been neglected by his nearest kinsfolk on earth. But Antigone’s act did not clear Creon. Creon’s duty to the dead and to the gods below was still unperformed. So far as Creon was concerned, Polyneices was still unburied. And Creon’s obligation could not be discharged, as Antigone’s had been, merely by the symbolical act, which religion accepted only when a person was unavoidably hindered from performing regular rites. There was nothing to hinder Creon from performing such rites. These were still claimed from him. After Antigone’s tribute had been rendered, birds and dogs had been busy with the corpse. Creon’s duty to the dead and to the gods below was now also a duty towards the polluted State, from which his impiety had alienated the gods above.

    In reply to the friendly and earnest warning of Teiresias, Creon angrily accuses the seer of mercenary complicity in a disloyal plot; malcontent Thebans wish to gain a triumph over their king by frightening him into a surrender. Never will he grant burial-rites to Polyneices.

    Teiresias, angered in his turn, then declares the penalty which the gods reserve for such obduracy. With the life of his own son shall Creon atone for his twofold sin,—the detention of the dead among the living, and the imprisonment of the living in the abode of the dead. The seer then departs.

    Creon is deeply moved. In the course of long and eventful years he has learned a lesson which is present also to the minds of the Theban elders. The word of Teiresias has never failed to come true.

    After a hurried consultation with the Chorus, Creon’s resolve is taken. He will yield. He immediately starts, with his servants, for the upper part of the Theban plain, where the body of Polyneices is still lying,—not very far, it would seem, from the place of Antigone’s prison.

    At this point an objection might suggest itself to the spectator. Is there not something a little improbable in the celerity with which Creon,—hitherto inflexible,—is converted by the threats of a seer whom he has just been denouncing as a venal impostor? Granting that experience had attested the seer’s infallibility when speaking in the name of the gods, has not Creon professed to believe that, in this instance, Teiresias is merely the mouthpiece of disloyal Thebans? The answer will be found by attentively observing the state of mind which, up to this point, has been portrayed in Creon. He has, indeed, been inflexible; he has even been vehement in asserting his inflexibility. But, under this vehemence, we have been permitted to see occasional glimpses of an uneasy conscience. One such glimpse is at vv. 889 f., where he protests that his hands are clean in regard to Antigone;—he had given her full warning, and he has not shed her blood,—‘but at any rate’—‘she shall die.’ Another such trait occurs at v. 1040, where he says that he will not bury Polyneices, though the throne of Zeus in heaven should be defiled,—quickly adding, ‘for I know that no mortal can pollute the gods.’ It may further be remarked that a latent self-mistrust is suggested by the very violence of his rejoinder to the Chorus, when they venture, with timid respect, to hint the possibility that some divine agency may have been at work in the mysterious tribute paid to Polyneices (278 f.). A like remark applies to the fury which breaks out at moments in his interviews with Haemon and with Teiresias. The delicacy of the dramatic tact which forbids these touches to be obtrusive is such as Sophocles, alone of the Attic masters, knew how to use. But they suffice to indicate the secret trembling of the balance behind those protestations of an unconquerable resolve; the terrible prophecy of Teiresias only turns the scale.

    The Chorus is now gladdened by the hope that Creon’s repentance, late though it is, may avail to avert the doom threatened by Teiresias. This feeling is expressed in a short and joyous ode, which invokes the bright presence of Dionysus. May the joyous god come with healing virtue to his favorite Thebes! The substitution of this lively dance-song (‘hyporcheme’) for a choral ode of a graver cast here serves the same purpose of contrast as in Oedipus the King, the Ajax, and the Trachiniae. The catastrophe is approaching.

    A Messenger now enters,—one of the servants who had accompanied Creon to the plain. The words in which he briefly intimates the nature of his tidings (v. 1173) are overheard, within the house, by Eurydice, then in the act of going forth with offerings to Pallas; and she swoons. On recovering consciousness, she comes forth, and hears the full account from the Messenger. He says that, when they reached the plain, Creon’s first care was for the funeral rites due to Polyneices. After prayer to Pluto and Hecate, the remains—lacerated by birds and dogs—were washed, and solemnly burned; a high funeral-mound was then raised on the spot. Creon and his followers then repaired to the tomb of Antigone. They found her already dead; she had used her veil to hang herself. Haemon, in a frenzied state, was embracing her corpse. He drew his sword upon his father; who fled. Then, in a swift agony of remorse, the son slew himself.

    Having heard this news, Eurydicè silently retires into the house.

    She has hardly withdrawn, when Creon enters, with attendants, carrying Haemon’s shrouded corpse{5} upon a bier. He bewails his own folly as the cause of his son’s death. Amid his laments, a Messenger from the house announces that Eurydicè has stabbed herself at the household altar, with imprecations on the husband. Wholly desolate and wretched, Creon prays for death; nor has the Chorus any gentler comfort for him than the stern precept of resignation,—‘Pray thou no more; mortals have no escape from destined woe.’ As he is conducted into the house, the closing words of the drama are spoken by the leader of the Chorus: ‘Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness, and reverence towards the gods must be inviolate. Great words of prideful men are ever punished with great blows, and in old age teach the chastened to be wise.’

    This sketch may serve to illustrate the powerful unity of the play. The issue defined in the opening scene,—the conflict of divine with human law—remains the central interest throughout. The action, so simple in plan, is varied by masterly character-drawing, both in the two principal figures, and in those lesser persons who contribute gradations of light and shade to the picture. There is no halting in the march of the drama; at each successive step we become more and more keenly interested to see how this great conflict is to end; and when the tragic climax is reached it is worthy of such a progress. It would not, however, be warrantable to describe the construction of the play as faultless. No one who seeks fully to comprehend and enjoy this great work of art can be content to ignore certain questions which are suggested by one part of it,—the part from v. 998 to 1243, which introduces and develops the catastrophe.

    Teiresias, as we saw, came with the benevolent purpose of warning Creon that he must bury Polyneices. Creon was stubborn, and Teiresias then said that the gods would punish him. Haemon would die, because his father had been guilty of two sins,—burying Antigone alive{6}, and dishonoring the corpse of Polyneices. This prophecy assumed that Creon would remain obdurate. But, in the event, he immediately yielded; he buried Polyneices, and attempted, though too late, to release Antigone. Now suppose that he had been in time to save Antigone. He would then have cancelled both his offences. And then, we must infer, the divine punishment predicted by Teiresias would have been averted; since the prediction does not rest on any statement that a specific term of grace had expired. Otherwise we should have to suppose that the seer did not know the true mind of the gods when he represented that Creon might still be saved by repentance (1025 ff.). But the dramatic function of Teiresias obviously requires us to assume that he was infallible whenever he spoke from ‘the signs of his art’; indeed, the play tells us that he was so (1094).

    Everything depended, then, on Creon being in time to save Antigone. Only a very short interval can be imagined between the moment at which she is led away to her tomb and that at which Creon resolves to release her; in the play it is measured by 186 verses (928-1114). The Chorus puts Creon’s duties in the natural order; ‘free the maiden from her rocky chamber, and make a tomb for the unburied dead’ (1100); and Creon seems to feel that the release, as the more urgent task, ought to have precedence. Nevertheless, when he and his men arrive on the ground, his first care is given to Polyneices. After the rites have been performed, a high mound is raised. Only then does he proceed to Antigone’s prison,—and then it is too late. We are not given any reason for the burial being taken in hand before the release. The dramatic fault here has nothing to do with

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